Promised
by the-academy-isn't
Summary: Angry. Confused. Scared. These are Nicholas Ride's thoughts as he embarks on a mental journey that has him questioning everything from his past and future to the world he's always known. Off hiatus/as of 8/2013.
1. What's in a name?

_**Disclaimer: No, I'm not some plot-hole loving middle aged man. Merely a thirteen-year-old girl. Therefore, JP, don't switch to your lawsuit pants. I don't own Maximum Ride. **_

**For the sake of my main character, this is kind of vague. It's a plotline that was kind of hinted at in the beginning of Angel, if you read that one. If not, you'll get this eventually. Commence!**

My name is Nicholas Ride. Yes, you read that right. I'm _her _offspring. I've never met her, but Maximum Ride is, indeed, my mother. I'm her heir. And, consequently, prince of the Western world.

I'm fifteen, which is her age when she was forced to have me. I was raised by my aunts and my uncles: Monique, Ella, Zephyr, and James. Together they make up my mother's adoptive siblings and four of the western royal council members. My mother is first in command. She used to be followed by a second, and then the council.

The second in command was my father. I only met him once, and shortly after he was assassinated by spies from the Eastern kingdom. Dear old dad's name was Dylan, and Aunt El would tell me about how he loved my mother so much that he didn't care that she was always going to be in love with someone else. Aunt Moni says that Mom only kept him around for two things: to compete with the East, because their leader has a wife, and because he was my father and she wouldn't dare be the one to kill the father of her son.

"You've never met her, Nicky, but your mother has morals. She's not going to let herself take away the idea of a real father from you," My aunts would say. Aunt Ella and Uncle James' son Kevin is always with his parents, always being coddled and loved. Sometimes I'm jealous of him. He has real _parents_ who are always, always there for him. My parents have never said _I love you_ or_ eat your greens! _My aunts and uncles say these things to me daily, but my parents? I've never met my mother. The one time I met Dylan he was detached and cold, like he didn't care what happened to me as long as I fulfilled my duties.

"You sound like a smart boy," he said. "Don't make me take that back."

Don't get me wrong: I appreciate everything my aunts and uncles have done for me, I am grateful that they've raised me as one of their own. I know that my parents have (or _had_) very important jobs. My mother is in charge of leading a huge continent of civilians, and battling out debates and issues. She leaves the smaller issues like crime and managing individual districts of the West to the council (and my father, before he died) and she herself manages the big things. Like war.

It's always a threat here. There's only two countries on the planet, (but I am taught that there were once scores of them) so every war and battle (and there's been more than a few, to sum it up in a sentence) is fought valiantly by both sides. The West, ruled by my mother, Maximum Ride, and the East.

The East. If there's one thing my aunts and uncles have taught me to do, it's to hate the Eastern world. Aunt Ella likes to tell me this story about how my mother once saved her from some bullies while traveling across the first major Western landmass to rescue the third in command of the East. Aunt Monique tells this story, too, but from a different perspective: "The three of us, your momma, me, and this other boy, were flying to rescue the third"—she says _other boy_ and _the third_ with a hard, unforgiving tone—"when she decides to swoop down and rescue this poor, innocent little girl. About my age at the time,"—Aunt Monique never divulges her real age to anyone—"maybe nine or ten. That little innocent girl gettin' threatened by some boys twice her size? Your Aunt Ella." They tell me lots of stories about when the mother I've never met was young.

Aunt Monique—I've heard her called Nudge in some conversations I'm not supposed to hear—tells me of how without my mother, there would be no West or East kingdom. "She led the rebellion, she saved us all from the evil Doomsday group…but some of them turned on her in the end, led by a different group with different ideas. So we have two kingdoms: the East and the West." This is the explanation I am always given for why the way we live today is so different from when my family members we all young. I know about my mother's parents, how Aunt Ella is the only one of my caretakers that I'm actually related to, and my father's creator. I know about my mother's half brother that died while my mom was in the middle of her first effort to save the world, in a place once called Germany, now a bordering district of the East. I know about the School my mother was raised in, the E shaped house in Colorado. I know every story. About how Dad's creator died in a suicidal plane crash. Or how my grandparents and Ella disappeared and Ella was the only one they found. They've never told me who this famous Doomsday group really was, though. What their motives really were. What was so bad about them that stopping them was left to a fifteen year old girl and her flock? And her unborn son?

Monique and James say that the third in command of the east was once the youngest in the original flock. They talk about how the East's second in command, the wife, is an actual clone of my mother herself. James usually walks off when the conversation gets to this point, muttering about how Mom should have, "_killed the lying bitch when she had the chance."_ Uncle Zeph clenches his teeth and starts spouting insults in the voice of a man I've never met, prompting Aunt Ella to run out of the room with Monique at her back, holding away tears.

Neither story-loving aunt utters a word about the first in command, the elusive _other boy_ in Monique's stories about when they were young. Not Aunt Ella or Aunt Monique or my Uncles.

The only person who has ever elaborated on this person was my late father, Dylan, the one time I met him, days before his murder.

Our kingdoms have always hated each other, from the very start of the Revolution. Constantly threatening devastating wars.

So why did my father say that I, Nicholas Ride, am not just an heir to the Western queen, but a namesake also? To the Eastern king?

That my queen and the rival king have a background together that impacts me?

Way to leave me hanging, Dad.


	2. Doors Opening

**AN: So…reviews…thanks for them. Really helps.**

**Beth-Mae-Di Angelo: Yeah, he's definitely Dylan's kid. That, my friend, is crucial.**

** maximumpotter101: ****Gracias****! Here's a new chapter! **

** ninjabookworm: Thanks, I'll watch out for the flamers..but I'm not worried because that's pretty much all the mylan there is. **

_**Disclaimer: I don't own Maximum Ride, or the Jay-Z song I'm about to reference.**_

**However, Nicholas, my gorgeous OC, is allll mine. Hands off. There's more info in this chapter. I know its short, but bear with me.**

**On to the next one! (Ride clean…I don't even take my shoes off!)**

It was a normal afternoon in the fortress (Aunt Ella always sighs dreamily and calls it our castle) of the West when he came and told me. I was sitting in my room after being ordered, (more sternly than usual) by Aunt El to clean my half of the room that I share with my cousin Kevin. Uncle James was doing Council work, El was cleaning. Kevin was doing whatever it is that he does when he's bored. Monique and Zeph were telling Kevin's little sister, Tiffany, that story about when Zeph and James turned my mom's favorite jeans into a bomb. They try to tell the three of us—Kevin, Tiffany, and I—as many stories about my mom as possible, so it's like she's in our lives. Simultaneously, they try to tell these stories without mentioning the _other boy _or _the third. _To make it seem like my family was never betrayed by people they loved.

I was sitting on my bunk, drumming my fingers on the wall, listening to the hustle and bustle of an average day here in our wing of the fortress. Mom's in a wing on the other side with some of the other council members. The four that I live with are only here because they have kids of their own and because she trusts them with me. My aunts and uncles have meetings with her all the time, but I'm not allowed outside of my wing of the fortress. Daily life: quarters (sleeping), family room (living), courtyard (stretching my wings), kitchen (James has a way with the frying pan, for sure). Rinse. Repeat.

Then everything froze outside, and so did I. The storytelling, the scratching of Uncle James' pen, the spray of Aunt El's disinfectant—it all stopped. The walls were thin, and with my genetically enhanced ancestors, my hearing was bordering perfection. I could detect Uncle James' thin, whispered words: "_You know where." _Who knows what? Who's in our house? Nobody but my aunts and uncles come in that way…it had to be an official. Somebody allowed to be here. Someone permitted by my mother and the four council members living here. Someone in possession of a key.

Light footsteps pad the floor. Down the hallway. Up the stairs. Down the hallway again. Turning. Stopping.

Right outside the door I'm behind.

My breathing gets quicker, my heart speeds up. Jumping up from the bed, bending my right knee, and quickly shaking the blond hair out of my eyes, I get ready to fight just like my mom in all the stories about her in battle—_just_ like my _mom_! Three quick raps on the hard steel door, one right after another. _Knock. Knock. Knock. _Preparing myself. _This is it—I'll get to show what I can do! That I'm worth my mother's time!_

The door opens, and in spends a man I've never seen before. Of course, this doesn't mean much—I've spent all fifteen years of my life with my aunts, uncles, and cousins. No visitors, not counting Dylan.

"Hello, Nicholas. I can't say I've been looking forward to meeting you, after all this time." His voice registers instantly as one I've heard before—Uncle Zephyr's angry yells when the conversation gets rough—only it was younger then, less stressed.

The person standing before me is somebody who's lost a lot. He's about Uncle James' age, late twenties. He clasps his hands behind his back and stands up straight, while looking at me head-on with a blank expression on his weary, worn-out face. "Who are you?" The only three words I can think to say.

"Lose the battle stance—it's a good one, too, they've trained you well and she'd be proud—and maybe I'll tell you." He retains the stare, the position. His eyes are unwavering, his expression giving nothing away.

I drop my fists and relax. When I do, so does he. His hands move to his pockets, and as he leans against the doorframe, shutting the door behind him, he looks at me questioningly, like there's something about me that he needs to figure out. Like there's something in the way I'm sitting here, waiting for a response, that reminds him of something important. Maybe there is something important about me, anyway, because, after all, half my DNA comes from _her._

"My name is Fang. I'm here to tell you that your mother is dead, and you're going to train to take her place."

My jaw goes slack, my eyes grow wide. Didn't see that coming.


	3. Denial in the form of passing out

**_Disclaimer: Not mine._**

**I gather that this is a lot shorter than usual, but I'm short on time, and I will be for awhile.**

_Okay. Okay. You can do this, Nick. Just listen to what the dude has to say to you. Maybe it's all one huge misunderstanding, and everything's actually okay. Perfectly fine._

_Shit, nothing's okay._

There's a stranger in my room—one that Ella, James, Monique and Zephyr are obviously well acquainted with—telling me that my mother, the indestructible Maximum Ride, was dead.

Dead. I'd never meet her.

Dead. She'd never know how similar to her I am.

Dead. How would I ever take her place?

When did her dying even become possible?

I replied the only way my short-circuiting brain would let me—"No. You're lying."

He laughed at me. "She would have denied it, too." He stared me down again. 'Why would I lie about the death of my best friend? To her son?"

Okay, way to confuse me even more.

But that did confirm it for me—she was gone. I would never be able to show her how much I look up to her. She wouldn't get to train me. I wouldn't even be able to see if all the similarities I've noticed between us while watching her on the TV and in photographs are actually there.

All of that stuff—things I've been dreaming about for years, since the day I asked Aunt Monique_ Where's __**my**__ mommy? Why does Kevin get one, and I don't? Are__** you**__ my mommy? _and she and Uncle Zephyr sat me down and began to fill my head with fairytales of the woman that was my mother.

Did they know then that she was going to die before could I could meet the star of the show, the fairytale princess, for myself?

Fang continues: "It was an expiration date," Pause. "They've told you about those, correct?"

I squeeze my eyes closed, clench my teeth—and my fists, and my toes, and finally nod up and down, the universal signal for the word, "yes."

"She kept quiet about it. Max was always like that. She gave me a week ahead of time to get everything in order on my end and then get my ass over here. An hour ago she warned your aunts and uncles. She's had the West ready to be temporarily controlled by yours truly for over the last two months. Her last order was for me to come over here as soon as she went to get you and start training." Pause. Pause. Pause. Deep breath.

"She says that she loves you, and to make her proud."

I open up my eyes after this little speech of his that makes me want to strangle him and burst into tears, but still keeping my fists closed so tight that my short dig into the flesh of my palms.

"Who are you, _Fang_? _Really_?"

"Do you really want to know?"

A give him a Look, one that they tell me I definitely inherited from her, and he continues.

"I'm Fang, your mother's best friend and ex-boyfriend. I'm the _other one_ in all the stories I know your Aunt Monique tells. I'm Nicholas, king of the East. And your godfather, if you want to add to the drama. But honestly, I think Max only did that—and naming you after me—to piss Dylan off."

I stared at him totally blankly for a second, uncurling my fists and my toes.

I then promptly proceeded to pass out on the floor.

**AN: Let's talk about reviews, shall we? I love them. Everybody loves them. So, pretty please click that little button? It'll make my day!**


	4. Dreamland

_**Disclaimer: Never was mine, isn't mine, and never shall be mine. Can I stop doing these?**_

**I may have been MIA for awhile there, but I am BACK, babies. Ready to roll! **

_The world was spinning. Spinning. Spinning. Everything around me was like a black and white silent film, no sound, no color, totally and completely devoid of any real animation or life._

_I was alone in an empty room. I didn't know where, I didn't know anything. The last thing I remembered was falling to the ground after he—King Nicholas, also known as Fang—explained my mother's death, and who he really was. The room had one window and one door, and whether it was light or dark, night or day, I couldn't tell. There was a simple doorknob on the door, and the window was bare. I had no perception of time, no sensation running through my body, only thoughts racing through my mind. It was as if I was just floating there, but not really—I was still situated on the floor below me, I just couldn't feel it. Completely cut off from everything, everybody. Trapped in this lifeless, soundless room that may or ,may not be a creation of my own mind, my own imagination. Left observing everything able to be observed. Not participating, only watching. Kind of like a ghost, or a spirit. _

_And then, with a jolt of electricity I wasn't expecting shocking every cell in this unknown body I was in, everything was alive. There was light streaming in through the clear glass window, reflecting off of the dark red walls. I could feel my bare feet pad against the cold wooden floor as I passed the white door to peer out the window, looking out on the barren, desolate landscape below._

_The room I was in was high up, maybe built fifteen or so stories above the bleak landscape on the ground._

"Hello, Nicholas."

_I whirled around on my heel in a split second to face the speaker, someone with a calm, easy, yet withered and stressed manner of talking, who had entered the room soundlessly and closing the door just as silently behind them. _

_If they had used the door at all._

_I knew i__**nstantly**__ who the speaker was. I'd know her anywhere, out of a crowd of a thousand. _

_I have only ever heard her voice on the television...but I knew. _

_I look in her eyes: dark brown and determined._

_Even if I hadn't seen her face everyday on TV for as long as I can remember, I would have know who this person was._

_When I fell, it must not have been because I was passing out, as I thought._

_Because, if I was merely unconscious, how could I be standing __upright in a room with my mother? The only solution is that I died._

_I was her. A teenage boy incarnation of her. I had her nose—sharp yet modest. Her stance—locked and ready. Her cheekbones—high and prominent. Even her hands—long, nimble, and obviously capable. _

_For the first time in my admittedly short existence, I was in the presence of the great, famous Maximum Ride, who died only hours ago. The woman to fear, to hide from, to bow down to. _

_In other words, the woman who was forced to screw like a bunny at age fifteen to produce yours truly._

_In other words, my mum. _

_In other words, the most powerful and influential person who had ever graced the earth with their presence. And I'm not only saying that as a proud Western citizen and her loyal offspring, either._

_Didn't see this coming. Damn..._

"Oh, Nicholas, I've been waiting so long for this."

**Yeah, this is extra short. It's all I had time for, and I need to plan out how the next chapter will go. Tell me what you liked, what you didn't, how to improve, where to go next. A review is the internet equivalent of a bowl of ice cream. Fact about moi: when I get proposed to, the dude/dudette (depending on the way I end up rolling) needs to put the ring at the bottom of a hugeass ice cream sundae. I'll be so happy with the ice cream that I'll say yes for sure. TELL ME: is Nicholas a mary-sue, and who else endured Irene? Any stories to tell me?**


	5. Desirable: Noun, Adjective

**Yes..its me again. I've been so goddamn busy and I honestly forgot about this. Don't hate me. Review and give me ideas. I don't own the definition from google.**

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><p>So. Yeah. My current situation? I couldn't decide if it was desirable or not.<p>

Pro: I was meeting my mom for the very first time, ever.

Con: I just got told that she died. Which either means that I'm dead too, or I'm crazy. Neither of these scenarios are very desirable. I'm trying to be honest with myself here. Really, there's no actual point in continuing this deranged pro/con list...because every pro will be overshadowed by the fact that she's _dead_ and I'm borderline _insane._ Call me crazy, no pun intended, but I think that it might just be a better idea to go ahead and deal with the situation—oh god, a mere "situation" was the kindest thing you could call it—at hand.

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><p>Desirable situation. Define desirable.<p>

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><p>"Oh, Nicholas, honey, I know that you're confused, and no doubt tired...But you <em>need<em> to listen to me. You aren't crazy or dead, this is only a dream, one of the most important dreams you will ever have. You need to pay attention to what I'm saying." Mom spoke in a clear voice that rang in my ears, echoing and bouncing off the walls. "So much depends on you now."

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>de·sir·a·ble dəˈzī(ə)rəbəl/

Noun: A _desirable_ person, thing, or quality.

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><p><p>

"Where am I? What's going on?"

"As I've told you, this is only but a dream. But you're here for an important reason, my dear. I have so much to say...in so little time." She waits for me to say something in response, but I just stand and wait. I'm just relieved that this is just a very eventful dream, or, at worst, a mild, semi-creepy, faint-induced nightmare. What's to take seriously?

Apparently my mother is all-knowing. "Everything. I hate to tell you this now, when it was forced on my own shoulders at the very same age. But, Nicholas, dear, you have a job to do. A very important job. I don't suppose you can't guess what it is?"

Oh, snap. Of course, I know what she's saying. The world. It has this irritating habit of pestering my family for saving, it seems. Well...

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><p>Well, as of now, this situation definitely isn't <em>desirable.<em>

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><p>If you can't beat 'em, join 'em.<p>

My aunts and uncles hate that saying.

"What do I have to do?"

"Are you ready to know?" As if I even have a choice in the matter.

"Were _you_ ready to know?"

She stops short, looks at me for a second, and smiles.

"You're not like Dylan at all._ Thank God._" Her voice is full of bitter relief. "You'll be happy to know that I'm nothing like the voice in my head...I'll give you the details. You won't be running around for a year going through things you never imagined."

I let out a sigh of relief I didn't even know I was holding.

She lets out a breath as well and rolls her eyes toward the ceiling, looking there for a second. "It'll be just as bad, I'm sure, but you'll be prepared, all the same."

Dammit. Here I was, thinking I was lucky.

"You just met Fang." Its a statement. I nod in response. "During the duration of this dream, he's picked you up, and carried you out through a back door you've never been allowed to see, all according to my prior instruction. You know who he is, correct?"

"He's the reason I fainted!"

"Don't hold that against him, darling. He's taking you home with him. He's going to train you."

"Train me to do what?" He had mentioned this also. This couldn't mean anything good. Anyway, what did _good_ even mean anymore?

"To take my place, and his, in four months. It won't be easy."

Not easy. Of course it won't be easy. I stopped assuming that I would be able to take this_ easily_ awhile ago. No point in fighting it now. "I don't suppose you'll tell me why?"

"Sure I will. Rebellions from his people. Ours. His wife. Iggy and Nudge—James and Monique—know not to do anything, but they don't know the whole plan. It'll be up to you to clarify for them when the time comes."

"When will that be?" This is all so cryptic—it could be never. It could be now. For all I know, the right time was last week.

"Like I said, when the time comes. You'll know."

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>Adjective: Wanted or wished for as being an attractive, useful, or necessary course of action.<hr>

"How? How will I know?"

"You just_ will._"

And with those words and a quick wave, she vanished, along with the room and my coherent thought.

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><p><em>I woke up.<em>

_Desirable_ course of action:

Probably not.


	6. Quick Question

"_**Boy, did they have fun...behind the sea. They say, hey!**_

_** And we're all too small to talk to God."**_

_**-**_**Behind the Sea, by Panic at the Disco**

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><p>Ah, life.<p>

You never cease to amaze me.

When I, as I said, woke up, my surroundings were considerably different, as my mother said they would be. Note that I express no shock or lasting surprise at the dreamland conversation I shared with her in my previous state of unconsciousness. Life will have to pitch a lightning-quick fastball to steal my coherency from this day out.

Where I was exactly was beyond me, but I was experiencing something new altogether. This feeling, this feeling of being in the air, with the air pressure around me feeling different in a way I'm not used to, yet, at the same time, I was sitting firmly in an armchair resting on the ground. As if I was resting in the living room at Aunt Ella's "castle".

"Welcome to Air Force Fun!" Fang enters the room, a smirk on his face and a laugh in his voice.

My life is so crazy. Air Force Fun? I'm not even sure I want to know what he means by that, but I ask anyway. I raise my eyebrows, glad to know that he's decided to talk to me, rather than eat me or rape me or sell me to some shady dude in a cape. "Definition, please."

"We're riding on the official jetplane for the East. In the old West, the president's private jet was called Air Force One. My name plus the word one is "fun". And therefore, Air Force Fun."

"Clever." Something tells me that this is a conversation he'd be having with somebody else, under normal—ugh, what does _normal_ even mean anymore?—circumstances. Someone else, for sure. "Tell me something."

"What do you want to know?" He replies, face set in an earnest, willing expression.

"If you were my mother's supposed best friend, why all the war? Why all the suffering, these past fifteen years? All the lives, the hostility, the pain, for both countries, that could have been saved, if only you had acted on your "friendship".

This was not a question that he had been expecting.

His jaw sets, his teeth clench. He stares straight ahead at me but his eyes are glazed over in a far-off manner, as if his body is here, but is mind is uncountable miles and years away. Aunt Ella would laugh and call him a space cadet. Well, maybe she wouldn't laugh. Uncle Zephyr would yell at him to snap out of it and spit out the damn answer already.

I know better than to speak right now.

He sits down across from me, angles his head downwards, and closes his eyes. He doesn't squeeze them tightly, his knuckles aren't going white. Its almost as if he's sleeping, save for the pained expression on his face.

Fang speaks. "I don't think you're ready for this."

He's wrong. Oh so wrong. I'm tired of the lies I've been fed. The deceit that's been spooned into my mouth and down my throat and just eaten up and accepted as fortifying sustenance since I was young. People forcing stories down my throat, everyday since I was able to comprehend them. But stories with huge missing bits and covered-up details with just the right amount of dry humor won't cut it now.

I'm fifteen years old. Half this man's age. I may not be the poster boy for the word "ready", the epitome of prepared, but I know what I can take and what I can do.

There's one person in this room who is ready. Very, very ready. Ready to know.

There's one person who isn't ready at all. Not ready to recant the words that have been ruling his life since before I was born. Not ready to tell the story that's been haunting him for years, and will continue to do so until he goes against his state of readiness and just _lets it go._

Until the person who isn't ready lets the words free, both people will suffer. The the trapped prose will gnaw and scratch at the haunted person from the inside out the a starving animal. This will continue until the words stop swimming behind his eyes and become part of the collection of beginnings, middles, and ends that make up the mind of the ready young man.

My life is changing drastically. I at least deserve this. I know it. Finally, at last, it seems he knows it too. He looks up, and the pain of his tale, obviously twisted, splashing around, causing havoc in the depths of his mind, visible though his slightly deranged eyes. He whispers one word, one name, whispered so softly yet echoing loud and clear above the_ whirrrs_ of the plane.

_"Max."_

Afterwards, he squeezes his eyes shut one more time, opens them back up, and meets my irises.

"The story started twenty-nine years ago. I was eight months old."

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><p>I don't own the song or the band or the album or the lyrics! Don't sue.<p>

How pissed/offended/scarred/creeped would you be if I put Nick and Fang together as a couple? Because the thought came to my head with chapter and I want reader opinions before I change my plot that way.

PLEASE tell me in your review. Because if you don't like it and you don't speak up, I can't consider your opinion and you might end up pissed/offended/scarred/creeped.


	7. Ever Since Angel

**More reviews chapter, okay? This is short but I'm sick. Hehe, excuses.**

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><p><em>Let's get these teen hearts beating faster and faster! So testosterone boys and harlequin girls…Dance to this beat!"<em> –Lying is the Most Fun a Girl Can Have Without Taking her Clothes Off by Panic! At The Disco

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><p>Have you ever listened to somebody else's life story? It's a very humbling experience, in my case at least. Very humbling indeed.<p>

Fang's story—which started in a cage in what was then California and ended three days ago in the room where my mother died—lasted several hours, finishing only when we touched down in the country I had been taught to despise.

He and Max were best friends, and everything ran smoothly for the two of them for a really long time. It was all perfectly fine, in comparison to how bad it could be for the both of them, until they were fourteen when my would-be aunt, the East's second-in-command, Angel, was kidnapped. She was six at the time. I didn't get details of those few months, but he said that it's been hell for the six of them ever since.

Fang and my mom got together right before they turned fifteen, but it didn't last very long—good things never do. But was it a good thing at all? My aunts and uncles didn't like it, and my father, Dylan, was soon introduced, Angel temporarily took over, and it all eventually just…

Fell

to

p i e c e s.

(Very tiny, microscopic fragments that nobody, not even the indestructible Max, could put back together.)

She put on a brave face for what was left of her flock, after Fang left and Angel disappeared in the Parisian explosion. She put on a defiant face, an unwavering expression and voice for Fang's new gang, even though those five people-including her clone, the woman he eventually married,-represented the fact that her life would never again be the way it was the morning before Angel was kidnapped. Fang had jumped the ship for good, and that one decision of his changed everything. But she's been sick, Fang said. Ever since.

Ever since Angel.

When she disappeared, Max's heart broke.

When she resurfaced as Fang's third-in-command, it hardened back into a mutated shape that may have functioned like a heart on the outside, but was really just a twisted, empty shell.

After all, all the king's horses and all the king's men couldn't put Humpty back together again.

I realize how weird it is to compare my mom to a children's nursery rhyme, but think about it. It fits. My mother's heart was an egg on a brick wall, and when an egg falls and cracks, no amount of superglue will make that damn thing look normal ever again.

Basically, her heart was screwed for life.

They formed armies. According to Fang, this part of the story is reminiscent of WWII, in that Max led one side and Fang led the other, and even though neither group liked the other, they both worked together to defeat their common enemy: The Doomsday Group.

She gave into Jeb's wishes. And here I stand the result of a betrayal. Fang says that the reason I was never allowed to get close to her was because of Angel: She was worried it would happen again so she put me in the care of her sisters from day one. Even when Monique and Ella were only thirteen and the final confrontation, the fall of the DG and last stand of the Flock's and the Gang's armies was happening, my mom was on the line, battling it out, with Dylan, Fang and Maya the clone against the DG. (The enemy of my enemy is my friend.)

That's how the two countries of today were formed. What's going on now—me being trained to take over for Max _and_ Fang—is part of a pact they made ten years when she _knew_ that, ever since Angel, she couldn't train me herself.

In short, Maximum Ride and Fang loved each other—so very, very much—and they hated that. They hated how they still cared for each other, and to fight those feelings off, they hated, they rebelled, they fought wars, and they married other people. Max made fun of how Maya was her clone and Fang made fun of how Dylan was a Bieber wannabe. They put their countries through hell because they were too stubborn to admit how wrong they were.

A very elaborate game well played.

"I can't fix these past fifteen years, Nick. All I can do is make sure you do a better job than we ever did. That was all part of Max's plan." Fang says at the end of the story. My mother seems to have had more than her fair share of plans. I wonder how many of them she actually thought through?

At first glance, the East looks like it can't be all that different from the West. But it's the _East_, after all, and its then that I realize that _I _have more than a few dilemmas to face, too.

Because if I'm going to serve as leader for _both_ countries…

How am I going to bridge the obvious _hatred_ they share for each other?

Hell, how am I going to bridge my _own_ prejudices?

After all, I'm only human.

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><p><strong>Hey, people. Anything you recognize isn't mine. I'm currently testpiloting another story, so if you see it, review it, okay? It's called The Dark Side of V. Martinez and its all-human. It also happens to be Fax. Yeah, I know, shameless self-plug, but its complete lack of reviews depresses me. Speaking of reviews…<strong>


	8. Mind Reader

**Hello! NaNoWriMo was kicking my butt for awhile there, but I've got it under control. If you've never heard of NaNo, its this website where you can sign up to attempt to write 50,000 words in the month of November alone. It's so much fun, and I've loved it, and its definitely worth trying next year. I've celebrated arriving at 40,000 with a new chapter of this, so don't forget to review!**

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><p>So I had followed Fang, the gaping expanse of the hollow foyer making every sound seem a thousand times louder than it was in reality. Our shoes clicked against the shiny, black tile floors, sneakers squeaking on impact.<p>

I couldn't see the security, but I knew it was there, silently watching me, hidden where even the most trained eye would never find it. This place had to be so heavily guarded that you couldn't blink an eye in the direction of someone important without them knowing about it and silently stalking you- that's how it is where I'm from.

The hallway seemed to go on forever. Maybe this is a test, something to gauge how long I would be able to last before I asked any questions. What was I supposed to do here? I could stay silent, but I could also speak up, and I had no idea what either of those options would tell the guards and Fang and whoever else about me. Maybe I'm overthinking all of this. I'm probably overthinking it all- but what else could you ever possibly expect of me? I'm Max Ride's kid; I overthink everything.

Eventually we came to a wall of doors- have I told you about this before? Anyway, I know, its oh so very climactic. What do you expect me to say? There was a wall of blood-red, fire-breathing dragons guarding the doors? I don't think so. As cool as that would be...

Either way, Fang opened the door, any and all humorous expressions that might have graced his face before this moment (and our little conversation on the plane) completely, totally, and 100 percent gone. Goodbye. Out of this world, and not in the positive way. He opened the door. Let's take a moment and pause. Alright? The author sitting behind the screen would like to point out how far I've come. (Look at me, breaking the fourth wall! I'm such a rebel!) This time a week ago, I was getting yelled at by my aunts and watching my mother on TV. Now, that mother is dead, I don't know where my aunts are or how they're doing (and I'd give anything to be yelled at by one of them one more time) and the king of the East is opening a door for me. Put that perspective. Maybe, one day, you'll wake up, and everything will have changed.

I walked into the room- I didn't know if there were people in it. It was the Maximum Ride approach- don't worry about what's coming to you, just take it as it comes. We'll cross that bridge when we get to it. The first thing I noticed (after assuming that Fang had followed me into the room) was that I wasn't alone. There were two other people in this room, besides me, and only one of those people besides me was Fang. (Whoo! Simple math!)

"It's so nice to meet you, Nick. Finally."

That was a blonde woman talking, the other person in the room besides the two of us. She was really young looking, maybe in her early twenties at the most. She wasn't anywhere near thirty, and the first thing about her that I noticed wasn't any of that. What I really noticed about her, at first glance, was how she was exactly what my uncle Zephyr would look like had he been born a woman. This girl (she was so young looking that she could practically be considered a teenager, still totally eligible to be called a girl by anyone, even me) was like an exact copy of him, just with a softer face and less stubble. I knew exactly who she was, and she probably knew that. Fang knew it, too, he just didn't say anything. He just stood by, leaning against the doorway, having shut it quietly behind him. For such a vast entryway, this was a really small, dinky conference room. Maybe the East was all about setting high expectations then lowering those same expectations.

The blonde woman- obviously the third in command of the East, going by the stories that Aunt Monique tells- was standing tall, a forced smile gracing her face, which probably wasn't as pretty and naïve as it should be at her age. She's seen a lot, much more than I have and much more than she should. She had seen more than me when she was just seven years old- and I know this from the earlier stories that I've been told. You have to realize that most of my knowledge of this world and its people, past and present, comes from my aunts and my uncles and most recently, Fang (who, if you want to be technical about it, is also one of my uncles, so that doesn't really matter. I only know so much. I've been told that Zephyr's sister was the youngest flock member. I've also been told that the youngest flock member is now the East's third in command. I never got names, but that's how I figure things out- I remember details from stories and those details get me places.

You have to imagine how hard this must be for Fang and the third, here. I mean, it's already awkward for _me,_ hell, it would be awkward for anyone. But them? They get to help train the son of the woman they loved, the woman they betrayed, and the woman who raised them. I just get to meet someone my mom just knew... But they, they actually lived the history. To me, its all just stories, but to them, in their worlds, its real life. Its _their_ lives. They have lived this extensive past I can only listen to. I'm the product of that extensive past, the product of their mistakes (whether or not they would repeat those mistakes today, I don't know) and now they get to look me in the eye and tell me how they messed up. I've become totally aware, over the past day or so, (in conjunction with fifteen years of stories learned) that without these two people, my mom would never have felt enough pressure to give in and have me, and part of me is perfectly fine with all that. It's like, so what? She was forced to get married and have sex. It's no big deal, they did it all the time in the renaissance and stuff. If she hadn't done it I'd still be one out of a gazillion unfertilized eggs. But, the half of me that actually listens to morals disagrees. The other part of me may have a point, but these aren't the mid-1500s anymore. People don't do that anymore. Especially not at fifteen. Sure, Ella and James had Kevin when Ella was around thirteen and human, which is worse than my mother and very, very crazy... but their daughter is three. They didn't do it again. And Monique and Zephyr haven't had kids yet. With the exception of Kevin and me, that just doesn't happen. Plus, I'm pretty sure Kevin was either a freak accident, or a backup plan in the event of my failure. Which is sick, considering everything, but the guy who made my father and the man who fathered my mother- they were sick people. It makes sense, and the fact that nobody in my family, extended or adopted or outcasted or no would rather I didn't exist for the sake of my mom's happiness and sanity is a fact I've learned to deal with. They accept me and they treat me like I belong, just like Kevin, and they all keep their personal qualms about how I should never have come into existence to themselves. It gets easier, just like everything else.

"Hi, there. Nice to meet you. I'm Nick." I replied to the third. It was better just to play it cool in situations like this- its what my mom would have done.

"Hello, Nick." She said again, probably fighting back the urge to do several things, like sigh and scream and cry and yell in anger. She was good at covering up emotions, though. And she... Oh. Snap.

Didn't Aunt Monique say something about how the third could read minds? Because I feel like I'm being probed from the inside out right now... And its not the most pleasant feeling in the world, to be honest.

"Yeah, Nick. You're right. My name's Angel."

Awkward.

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><p><strong>Review, and the next chapter will be on its way, asap!<strong>


	9. Safe From Nothing Else

**Thank you very much to the person who came and reviewed this and two of my other stories. I hope you read this. I'm trying to improve and I'm using your review as basic guidelines. I wish you had an account so I could thank you personally, but...**

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><p>"I'm sure you're very confused," Angel said. Of course I was confused. Did she even have <em>eyes?<em> It looked like it, so if she wasn't missing my face, with my mouth gaping open like some kind of a deranged fish, then she had no excuse.

"Yeah, I'm confused." I replied, nodding. "Can I have some answers, please?" See, I was taught my manners. I'm not some village idiot, even though I may act like it sometimes.

Angel swiftly walked over to the dinky table in the conference room, which spanned around nine feet and could probably seat my entire family. She took a seat, opening a white folder that was in front of her brown folding chair. "Come here," She said, gesturing to the chair across from me. Fang walked over too, taking a seat to the right of Angel without a word out of his mouth.

As Angel pulled papers out of the folder, official-looking documents with letterheads and the like, I sat down across from the pair of them. I felt kind of important, because why else would they be talking to me right now, if I wasn't of at least a _little_ significance? Sure, the situation is far from ideal, but hey, I can work with that.

"As you know," She continued, stacking the papers on top of the folder, turning them to face me, "Your mom just died. It was of what can be considered as natural causes."

"An expiration date," I supplied, and she nodded.

"Exactly. We've been doing research on them, but I'm getting to that later."

Research? They were that bad? I mean, I knew they existed and I knew people like my mom had them, but I thought they weren't that big of a deal; in comparison to every other threat that could knock a person dead (especially in this world, with this kind of political climate), that expiration dates kind of looked silly.

Then again, if somebody as important as my mom died because of one, then maybe they're a much bigger deal than that.

"What are you getting to now?" I asked.

"The truth of the matter is, if Max just died, I will too. And not a long time from now. Soon." Fang said, pointing at me on the word "Max" and then himself on his own name. "We can't stop it anymore."

"There isn't anything you can do?" I asked. "There has to be a way, right?"

Angel shook her head. "It's a common misconception in the realm of expiration dates that yours is programmed into you. It isn't."

I raised an eyebrow. "Then how do they show up, then, if they aren't given to you?" I asked.

Pointing at himself and Angel, Fang replied. "It's a side effect of being a first generation recombinant. It shows up as soon as your DNA, the code that forms your cells, begins to unravel. Your systems break down and you die. Max's parents didn't have a human-avian DNA code, but she did, making her first generation, making me, Angel, and your aunts and uncles, all first generation."

"But I wouldn't be first," I said. "I would be second. Does that mean I'm safe?"

Angel laughed. "From your DNA unraveling? Yes, you are safe, Nick. But..."

Fang smirked. "You are _not_ safe from everything else."

"Well, I knew that. Now tell me something interesting," I said. I'm allowed to get bored with people I've just met laughing at my expense. I don't care if Fang poured his heart out to me on that plane a few hours ago, he only did it because I made him, and besides, I've been trained to hate these guys.

Sighing, Angel continued. "That means that soon both Max and Fang, the leaders of both sides, will be dead, and I've just told you that there's nothing we can do that will stop the process of his death in time to keep it from happening."

"Right. I kind of assumed that."

"Your mom and I had a pact," Fang said. "That whoever died last would train the heir and the heir would fix all the mistakes that we made. We figured out early on that you would be the heir and I would be the trainer, so it worked out evenly. We've never been able to agree on anything. You get to take over for both of us once my date kicks in."

"How come somebody else can't take over? You have people ruling behind you, don't you?" Forgive me for not wanting do this. I'm all up for challenging myself, but God. No. I'm startling to feel helpless and slightly angry. I don't have any background or experience like Max or Fang did, I didn't grow up like they did. I'm not ready now and I can't get that way in what, four months? Three? I don't care that this is technically what I was conceived for. I wasn't the person who made that decision, and I really that whoever did actually thought about what they were doing for a second!

It's impossible. Improbable!

It definitely isn't going to happen.

"Oh, it _will_ happen," Angel smiled, determined and bright yet unwavering. It was the kind of smile you gave your opponent in a fight while yelling at them to throw all they have at you. It was that creepy mind-reader smile.

"Would you _stop_ that?"

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><p><strong>Don't forget to review!<strong>


	10. Nothing Else At All

Hi, maybe you remember me. I've matured a little, so maybe this won't suck.

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><p>With the barren, war-crippled scenery?<p>

And the ominous, foreboding fortress of government.

This place has it. All of that.

You do not know where I am. Neither do I. And neither does my mom, either, because she hasn't shown up in some kind of twisted dream sequence.

After I met Angel, and I got the details of my upcoming training scenario, she and Fang gave me a nice, cozy tour of the compound; the mess hall, the training facilities, the science labs – the lot of it.

We had dinner – they talked strategy with unnamed officials, I pretended to understand – and then I found myself led to my bunk by an orderly in a starch white uniform.

I brushed my teeth, went to bed, and woke up gagged.

I know.

Let us rewind.

My hands, tightly bound behind my back. I was tucked in a damp corner made of cinderblocks, with a sock in my mouth. There was no source of light – it was darker than night, in a room with no windows. I didn't know if it was safe to assume the presence of a door.

I don't know how long I sat there. My back ached, my neck burned. It felt like hours, it could have been years.

After a few decades, though, I wasn't alone anymore. There was a door after all, and it opened, with a resounding, creaking shriek, and my parents walked in.

I _know._

Dylan was definitely Dylan, and Mom was Mom, as I knew her.

She was not the person from my dream. She was scarier, closer to a sense of ruthlessness.

She was a politician, in this dystopian world.

"Are you going to make me take it back, Nick? I called you smart, once, the last time we met." Dylan grinned, stepping forward in the dim light and ripping the gag from my mouth.

"How are you alive? I thought you were dead, they told me you were dead? Where am I?" Either of them could answer those questions.

My mom frowned, a grim sneer. "We were never dead."

"I faked my death," said Dylan – as if this were a casual fact.

"And I'm not your mother. You've heard of me."

And I have, she's right. "You're the clone, they – they told me about you. You work for the East. But Da-Dylan, you work for the West."

He laughs. Cold and hard. "Stupid boy, haven't you learned anything. Kid, you were raised to hate everything Eastern – and last night you willingly fell asleep in their castle, no defenses at all. Hasn't the fact that you're not at home anymore told you anything?"

The clone – I don't know her name, does she even have one? – shakes her head in agreement. "Politically things have been on the move for years, since the beginning. The original flock never should have been given power," She laughs. "They clearly had no clue what to do with it. But now their starting to die off, and we can finally start rebuilding."

I'm confused. "Whose side are you on?"

Dylan shrugs his shoulders. "Do you mean the East or the West? There is no such thing, never really has been. The world has never really settled down, the original war has never ended. You shouldn't ask_ us_ that - who's side are you on – you should ask yourself. Us or them?"

"Who is who?" I blink.

Clone smiles, and it does not reach her eyes. "That's up to you." From a pocket, she pulls a needle and a vial. "We're going to knock you out. You have two options – destroy them from the inside out when they hand you power, or be taken out by the future. I'll know, believe me." She raises her eyebrow. "We're close, him and I. You've met your fair share of double agents in the past few days. When you wake up you'll be back where you fell asleep."

She comes towards me with that damn needle and I want to fight her off, this is all so confusing, so painful, but she promised freedom and I need it like I need air – so I don't resist. I don't know who she is, or who he is, or what side is what and who has lied to me – this has all happened so fast. I have no time to breathe, metaphorically.

She pricks me, and I can feel the juice, whatever it is, running through my veins. It could be poison, it could be more than just a sedative. It could be mind control – can they bottle that, now?

High on whatever, I doze off, and when I wake up in snug and warm in the compound room I fell asleep in. I should be well rested and ready for combat training when the orderly comes back to escort me to breakfast. I should have no more problems than worrying about what training will entail. But I do. I have problems other than my ability to take a punch – at least.


End file.
